


the way you slam your body into mine

by HaleyElizabeth



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-28 00:49:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaleyElizabeth/pseuds/HaleyElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of porn, in six parts. that's about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. with every speck of dust illuminated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keahukahuanui](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keahukahuanui/gifts).



> for [tyler](http://keahukahuanui.tumblr.com/), for my 1k follower giveaway on tumblr.

**part i: scott and stiles**

At five years old, Scott and Stiles started having their sleepovers.

At eight years old, they were perfectly capable of having said sleepovers without calling one of their mothers to come and get them, in the middle of the night.

At twelve years old, they were both totally aware of their changing bodies, what things like puberty was doing to them, and the fact that it took _very little human contact_ to get their dicks hard.

It wasn’t weird if there was no touching involved.

As long as they didn’t actually _help_ each other get off, there was nothing written that said two bros couldn’t jerk off in the same bed.

And then they discovered porn, and, well… rubbing one out in the same bed, pants around your knees, elbows jostling together, became an every weekend kinda thing.

Which wasn’t a big deal. They were both totally sure that it was a big deal. Nothing wrong with seeing your best friend’s dick. (Not like they didn’t see it anyways, they played on all the same teams, and and they changed around each other all the time. This was no different, right?)

At some point, it got different.

At some point- though neither could pinpoint exactly when, maybe when Scott started dating Allison and actually _had sex_ , maybe when Stiles came out as bi and the idea of him being into a guy touching him was actually on the table- it definitely got a lot different.

Scott woke up to the sound of the front door slamming closed as his mother left for work, for her Saturday shift. He moaned, softly, at the rude awakening, before he rolled over to shove his face into the pillow.

Forgetting entirely that Stiles was in the bed next to him, and when he rolled over, he ended up his his hips pressed against the curve of Stiles’ ass, his face buried into his friend’s neck.

Which wasn’t altogether unpleasant, really.

Stiles was warm and soft, and if Scott hadn’t been totally aware that he had morning wood, he would be now with it pressed against the giving flesh of his best friend’s ass, despite the thin layer of fabric between them.

He blinked a little, still half-asleep, really, and rolled his hips experimentally.

Stiles responded with a soft little moan of his own, and yawned, slow and wide, blinking his eyes at Scott over his shoulder, before he laid his head back down on the pillow, facing away from him.

Scott was totally going to get off of him. Go to the bathroom and take care of his little problem, and then get back in bed and get a few more hours of sleep.

But then Stiles pushed his ass up, just a little, against Scott’s cock. And that went out the window.

He moaned, a needy, breathless noise, and moved himself so he was fully on top of Stiles. (He wasn’t doing anything weird They cuddled all the time. Wrestled all the time. This was basically the same thing. Except how it wasn’t. At all.) He pressed his nose into the nape of his neck, inhaling the scent of him, the combination of sweat, and Red Bull, and _Stiles._

When he rolled his hips next, he was still rubbing his face into Stiles’ neck, and he could hear the boy gasp, softly, underneath him.

So, he did it again. Rubbed his hardon against Stiles’ ass. Even though two pairs of boxers, he could feel the way his pre-come slicked head slid up Stiles’ center. The way it would have been slipping into him, if it weren’t for their clothes.

Scott groaned, and pushed himself in tighter, his face burrowing in next to Stiles’, cheek to cheek, as he wrapped his arms around his best friend’s torso, his hips beginning to buck manically against his ass. There was no pretending that this was anything but what it was, anymore, and the soft little noises of excitement turned into something else entirely, encouraging groans as Stiles pushed himself back, against him.

Experimentally, Scott let one hand trail down Stiles’ chest and stomach, making a path across his skin until he felt the elastic line of his boxers. He slipped his hand just a little farther, and-

And the front door opened.

Heartbeat a million miles a second, Scott flung himself away from his best friend, landing across the room. Downstairs, he could hear his mom cursing lightly, as she grabbed her coffee from the counter, and then left again, keys jingling in her hand.

From the bed, a still sleepy Stiles blinked at him curiously, and then flushed, ducking his head into the pillows and closing his eyes.

Scott was totally mortified, actually. He cleared his throat, but then decided against actually speaking, turning tail and heading for the bathroom, to make through with his original plan.

He locked the door behind himself, before he leaned back against the counter, shoved his boxers around his knees, and wrapped a fist around his cock. He wasn’t going for slow and easy, here. He wanted fast, and dirty, and quick, because he was so hard that it was fucking painful.

He thought about full pink lips wrapped around him, and long fingers probing at his entrance, and soft skin that he could suck at for hours. He groaned, cocking his hips up, his body bowing over, almost, at how fucking good it felt to just _touch himself_ like this, still heady from sleep, raw and-

And what the fuck was that?

The hand on his cock stilled, and he frowned, turning his head to the side slightly, to listen. He could hear it, in his room, the only thing between them to door. Stiles’ breath hitching in his throat. The subtle slide of skin against skin. Soft, barely whispered moans.

Scott found himself dragging his boxers back up his legs before he really had time to think about it, and in the next minute, he was opening the bathroom door.

Stiles was on his back, both hands gone beneath the blanket, his mouth open, his eyes closed. Or, they had been closed. When Scott opened the door, they shot open, and he turned his attention to him.

They stared at each other for a good thirty seconds, before Stiles made the move.

He kicked the blankets onto the floor, and Scott watched them crumple, before he turned his eyes to what their removal had revealed. Stiles had one hand wrapped around his own hard on, red and hard and dripping, the other hand lower, two fingers shoved up his ass, fucking into himself.

Scott groaned. Stiles cocked his head back again, and _just kept going._

The sight had Scott feeling dizzy as Hell. (Though, that have been the fact that all the blood in his body was in his cock.) He grabbed his computer chair and fell into it, collapsing down and just staring at the show that his best friend was putting on.

Stiles didn’t seem to mind the audience. If anything, it had him moaning louder, harder, rocking his hips down onto his fingers more forcefully, and groaning at the sensation. Scott could see the way he clenched around the two long, thin digits, and he briefly wondered what it would be like to replace them with his tongue.

He batted the idea away.

“You like that?”

When the words came tumbling from Stiles’ mouth, Scott had absolutely no idea what to do with them. He blinked, rapidly, and licked at his mouth, staring at his friend. After a pause, though, he nodded.

“Yeah… yeah, fuck…”

“Yeah, you do. You love watchin’ me like this, don’t you? Makes you so hard.”

He moaned, and pressed the heel of his palm into his still hard cock. “Yeah.”

“Touch yourself.”

And all the sleepover jerk off sessions could not have prepared him for whatever this was. This was new territory, bright and shiny and scary, and Scott was tumbling in after Stiles, head first.

He shoved his boxers down to his knees again, his dick pressing a long, hot line against his stomach, and he wrapped a hand around his again. He knew he wasn’t gonna last long, not between the earlier dry humping, and his half-session in the bathroom, but he didn’t wanna come before Stiles did. He wanted to watch this until the end. So he kept his grip loose, his strokes easy and slow, despite the protest his dick was putting up.

Stiles moaned, loud and obscene, on the bed, and spread his legs wider. The fingers in his ass crooked at a certain angle, the hand on his cock sped up, and when he came, his eyes were on Scott’s dick. And god, he came. Came so hard that he marked his own chest and stomach with it, came so hard that Scott actually thought he saw some on his fucking _neck._

He thought about how, not twenty minutes earlier, he’d had his face buried in that same spot.

And that had him over the edge, crying out hard as he covered his own fist in his release.

They sat there, silent, watching each other, for a long moment, before Stiles licked at his lips and rolled over onto his side, rubbing one hand against his come-covered skin. Not cleaning himself, at all. Scott’s bed was totally gonna reek of Stiles come for weeks.

He was okay with that.

“You still tired?” Stiles asked softly, nibbling at his full lower lip, and Scott found himself nodding without thinking.

He stood, tugging up his boxers and moving slowly towards the bed, lying down next to Stiles, on his side, so that they were chest to chest. Tentatively, experimentally, he reached up and brushed some of the liquid from his best friend’s neck, trailing it over his jugular, and down his clavicle, before letting his hand drop.

Stiles made a noise of approval, before he tucked himself against Scott, a tight, hot line against his body, and closed his eyes.

And if they both woke up again in a few hours, ready for another round, well, that was what sleepovers were for, right?


	2. try to define the space between them

  
**part ii: ethan and aiden**

Aiden and Ethan don't fight often. They have seen too much- and more importantly _survived_ too much to let bullshit get between them. They might not be the most affectionate brothers in the world- they are alphas, after all, they have a certain reputation, thanks- but they love each other. Most of the time.

But it isn't always sunshine and rainbows in some kind of euphoric twin paradise.

They certainly don't agree on everything. And with the ability to get inside each other's head every time they wolf out, it's kind of impossible to keep anything from eachother.

Like the way Aiden sometimes dreams about Ethan's mouth, and how Ethan sometimes dreams about Aiden fucking his mouth, and how Aiden would never, ever do that, because he's a goddamn respectable person.

It's a disagreement that's been going on for a long time now. A silent battle that crops up in little ways.

Like Ethan purposefully walking around naked, or wearing those ridiculously tight jeans, or _touching_ his brother when he doesn't need to.

Like when Ethan takes out Aiden's bike without asking, because his own is in the shop. Like when he doesn't answer his fucking phone for three hours, and he comes back smelling like cheap beer and cheaper tricks.

Aiden is going to kill him. It's gonna happen.

First, though, he grips him by the collar of his leather jacket and slams his back into the nearest wall. Portraits shake in the aftermath, and Aiden has the presence of mind to be happy they opted for a loft separate from the others.

"You are a self entitled little bitch, you know that?"

His words are drawled, almost growled into his brother's face. Ethan has the decency to look thoroughly freaked out.

Well, for about .5 seconds, before he starts looking furious.

"I brought it back, didn't I?"

"So not the point here."

"Then why don't you get to the fucking point." Ethan snarled right back, putting his flattened palm against Aiden's chest and shoving.

Aiden stumbled backwards, but righted himself, before slamming forward again, chest to chest with his brother now. Two of the trembling pictures fell from the wall, but he hardly noticed.

"Where were you?"

"Why does it matter?"

"You _stole_ my bike, I'd like to know where you took it." Aiden leaned forward and ran his tongue along Ethan's neck, taking a long sniff before he growled and pulled back again.

Ethan looked hateful. Then he looked smug.

"You caught me." His voice was deeper and darker now, more of a whisper than anything else. His fingers laced around Aiden's wrists, where he was still gripping his collar. "I was out having illicit; erotic gay sex. With your bike."

Aiden snapped his teeth at the air in front of his brother's face, and Ethan just looked more delighted.

"All night. More than one guy. I bent over and I let him fuck me. Hard."

"Shut up." The words came out garbled, but he was sure he got his point across, when, in the next moment, Ethan was leaning forward until their noses were nearly touching, and whispered,

"Make me."

Aiden filled the gap between them, slamming their mouths together so hard he thought he heard teeth cracking against each other. He wasn’t worried. He shoved his tongue into his brother’s mouth, running it along the roof and tasting the ridges, drawing his hips in closer with his hands, pressing them in tight, grip so hard he thought he might bruise him, if werewolves bruised.

Ethan responded more than happily, his hands wrapping around the side of his brother’s neck, making a long suffering moan in the back of his throat. Like he’d been thirsty for this, hungry for it. The noise punched straight to Aiden’s cock, and he found himself ripping Ethan’s shirt open before he could really think about the consequences.

There were _good_ reasons that he had avoided doing this for so long.

It was wrong. On a basic, moral level, it was completely fucking abhorrent to even think about. Acting on it was a thousand times worse. It made them… it made them something bad. Something bad in a way that killing people for Deucalion would never be able to make them.

But now that he’d started, Aiden was pretty sure he couldn’t stop.

And it didn’t look like Ethan was going to be down for stopping, either, the way he was reaching up to rip off his own shirt- or what was left of it- the way he arched his body forward in a hot line against Aiden’s, the way he threw back his head to expose to curve of his throat.

Who was Aiden to turn down such a pretty offer?

He bent forward and wrapped his mouth around a space of skin, sucking it right into his mouth, until he could nearly taste blood on his tongue. Ethan was writhing underneath him, pressing up against him harder, one leg wrapping around Aiden’s calf to thrust their lower bodies together.

He pulled back to look at the already fading red mark on his brother’s neck, and, making a noise of complete frustration, bent down and _sunk in his teeth._

Ethan yelped in surprise, and probably a little pain, but there wasn’t a hint of displeasure there. In the next second, he was moaning more wanton than before, his fingers sliding into the fabric of Aiden’s jeans to cup frantically at his ass, trying to use it to drag him closer.

“Want you to _fuck me._ ”

“Mhm.” Aiden replied noncommittally against his brother’s throat, before pulling back to observe his handiwork again. The mark still wouldn’t stay, he knew, but the furious red bite was a little more permanent than the alternative. He nodded, leaning forward to lick at it, one slow, smooth lap at his skin, chuckling at the way that it made Ethan practically _whimper_ against him.

“ _Please._ ”

And who was he to deny his brother, when he asked so nicely?

Aiden was sure he was going to regret this later. But for now, he was going to enjoy himself. He let his hands move to his brother’s belt buckle and zipper, tugging it down enough that he could push his jeans down to his mid-thigh. Ethan took them the rest of the way, yanking them off completely, kicking them somewhere else. 

The fact that his dick was already swollen and hard against his stomach didn’t surprise Aiden, at all. He’d felt it against his thigh. But the knowledge and the sight of it were two completely different things. He licked his lips in want, before he undid his own zipper.

He only pulled his pants down enough to get his cock free, his jeans ending up somewhere around his knees, when he picked his brother up and pushed him hard against the wall. Ethan made a needy little noise that Aiden silenced with his tongue in his mouth.

There had been plans of prepping. Of moving to the bedroom to grab the lube from the nightstand and using it to work his brother open on his fingers. But with the first digit sliding into Ethan’s ass, Aiden found himself _growling._

Because he hadn’t been lying. About being out and getting fucked. He could still _feel_ it on him, feel him loosened up and slick and ready, because he’d been used by someone else. Because he’d let someone else fuck him like some goddamn whore.

He snarled out at the nameless, faceless enemy that had been inside of his twin, and Ethan managed to look worried for a moment, before he twisted his hands into Aiden’s hair. He slitted their mouths together, kissing him long, and hard, and wet, and when he pulled back it was only slightly, to press their foreheads together.

“I love you.”

The ‘not him’ wasn’t spoken, but Aiden felt it reverberating in his goddamn blood, and in one thrust, he buried himself in Ethan.

His brother moaned loud and hard, like he knew he would, and Aiden didn’t bother to silence him this time, putting his mouth against his neck and biting down hard, again, relishing in the sticky warmth between their bodies and the push pull fire sensation of fucking in and out of his brother.

There were a thousand reasons not to do this and right now he couldn’t remember one.

He kept his pace hard and punishing, fucking into his brother with unrelenting thrusts. But whatever Aiden gave, Ethan was more than willing to take, gasping and moaning against his ear, rolling his hips down to meet his every thrust.

“Gonna knot you.” He growled the words into Ethan’s ear, and his brother cried out, back arching, and Aiden was sure he would have come right then and there, if it weren’t for him tightening his fist around the base of his cock and squeezing. Instead, Ethan just mewled and thrust up pathetically, wantonly. It was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

Aiden could feel the base of his dick swelling, growing, and he moaned, rolling his hips forward in one final thrust, before they were locked together, connected intimately, in the one single way that they had never been connected before now.

He let his fist start to move, stroking at Ethan’s cock hard and fast, until his brother came, come smearing over his hand and both of their chests. Aiden brought his hand to his mouth and lapped it up, which only made Ethan moan louder.

Knowing they would be connected for a while, he carried his brother to the couch and laid them out, kissing softly at the side of his neck when he did, over the large mark he’d made there, that was already disappearing.

“I love you, too,” He promised.

And God, he really did.


	3. like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for

**part iii: stiles, scott, and derek**

“Stiles… you are like… so smart.”

Under most circumstances, the praise from Scott might have earned him snarky comeback or something similar. But Stiles was actually feeling pretty smart. Not to mention a little too stoned to actually think up something clever enough to comeback with. So, instead, he just grinned, and lolled his head to the side to glance from Scott to Derek, who was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling of his loft like he’d never seen anything more interesting. It made Stiles laugh. Scott laughed when he did, though Stiles wasn’t sure he got the joke.

After the Great Big Bloody Battle (as Stiles called it in his own head) with the centaurs, two years ago, when the nemeton had been more or less destroyed, and Beacon Hills had stopped being a damn Hellmouth, Stiles had needed little things to occupy his time.

First, he’d learned how to do all the self defense shit that he’d been putting off. (Too little too late, but he was still alive, so whatever.) Then, he’d started reading up on any creature that they hadn’t faced before, anything he could get his hands on, from the Argents or from Deaton, even some stuff from Morrell. Just in case. Just so he’d be prepared.

But after a while, he ran out of important things to keep himself busy. And he’d done the only logical thing- he’d started looking for a way to get his friends high.

Werewolves couldn’t get intoxicated, not really, not on the normal stuff. Alcohol didn’t do shit for them, and neither did weed, and, honestly, they’d all been too scared to try anything else. Stiles thought that was pretty unfair. So, he’d taken home Deaton’s book on magical herbs and set to work.

There had been a few… you know, slip ups in the beginning. A few batches that were not at all up to par. There’d been one particularly bad incident where Isaac had started coughing up black goo all over Stiles’ Jeep.

But this… this was golden. He’d finally done it.

And he was pretty damn proud of himself.

“Scott, share with Derek. You’re hogging it all.” Stiles said softly, with a grin at the edge of his mouth. He brought his own- totally human- joint to his mouth and took a long drag, watching the way that Scott rolled over and started Army crawling towards Derek.

It was kind of cute.

“Hey.” Scott breathed, right into Derek’s face, when he got close enough, and Derek’s attention seemed to come back to Earth, glancing over at the other boy.

“Hey.” He repeated.

And then they both grinned and God they were _giggling_ at each other, and Stiles wasn’t sure whether to roll his eyes or marvel at how adorable his boyfriends were. (Boyfriends. That was a long story. But one for another time.)

“Uh, Stiles said that I gotta share.”

“Okay.”

Scott wiggled in a little close, before he took a drag of his own, and then leaned forward to slant his mouth over Derek’s. Derek seemed to get the idea at the last minute, and opened his lips just in time for Scott to blow smoke into his mouth, that Derek inhaled, slow.

Well, that was hot.

Derek seemed to think so, too, if the bulge in his pants was any indication. (And Stiles had a feeling Scott was no better off, but he couldn’t tell, from the angle he was at.)

“Mmm. Do it again.” Stiles murmured, propping himself up on his side and watching raptly.

Scott grinned, almost blushed, but nodded. He moved in even closer, before Derek just reached down to grab at his hips and pull him on top of him. The motion had Scott straddling one of Derek’s thighs, and Stiles thought he saw him roll his hips down just a little, against him. He licked at his mouth and watched while Scott took another drag, before he leaned down and repeated the motion, blowing smoke into Derek’s mouth.

Pretense seemed to fall to the wayside, because in the next minute, they were making out in earnest, Scott’s tongue shoved down Derek’s throat, Derek’s fingers digging into the small of Scott’s back.

Stiles just watched for a while, smoking until there was nothing left in his hand to smoke, before he sat up and readjusted himself in his pants, so his dick wasn’t pressed up against his zipper anymore.

Derek glanced over at him, and grinned, wide and unabashed. “You should join us.”

He should.

He moved forward, sliding across the floor on his knees, dragging jeans over carpet, until he reached the two of them. Stiles braced a hand at the small of Scott’s back, thumb working small circles into his muscle, so he could lean down and press his mouth to Derek’s. He could taste the lingering taste of Scott and the weed when he sucked his lower lip into his mouth, and Stiles’ dick twitched in his pants.

“I think that maybe… the two of you should repay me, for all my hard work.”

Scott giggled, a quiet little noise, but nodded his agreement. “How do you suggest we do that?” Derek licked at his lip, swollen from where Stiles at sucked at it, and nodded.

“Get on your hands and knees.”

And they obeyed without hesitation, moving to drop forward in front of him, their asses shoved towards him in full compliance. He grinned. It was rare that they were so wholly pliable, and he intended to enjoy this while he could.

“Drop your pants.”

Again, total and complete obedience, the two of them working at their buttons and zippers, yanking them down their legs. They seemed to get the idea that he meant boxers, too, because they had them both around their knees, bare ases presented to him without question.

Stiles licked his lips and reached around Scott’s waist to wrap a hand around his cock. He was unsurprised, and yet thrilled, to find him already hard. The boy let out a whimper, and bucked into his hand, and Stiles pressed a kiss to his shoulder, before biting down, teasingly.

He released him after a few easy strokes to wrap a hand around Derek, feeling the older man tense up, a shudder breaking through him at the contact. He was hot and hard as a rock, and Stiles growled, low into his ear, running his fingers along his skin, before he pulled back once more.

“Touch each other.”

From behind, he couldn’t make out exactly what they were doing, but he got the idea that they were doing as he’d told, by the broken noises leaving both their mouths, the way that they arched and surged forward, arms bumping into each other.

“I’m going to be… very upset if either of you comes before me.”

With that, he reached around to Derek’s mouth and slid two fingers into his mouth. The man lapped at them hungrily, licking and sucking, getting them wet. When Stiles pulled back, he moaned, like the loss of those fingers hit him in his bones, and it made Stiles grin.

In the next moment, the two fingers were pressed to Scott’s entrance, tight against his hole, watching the way his body tensed and quivered, waiting for the coming intrusion. Slowly, too slowly, making him wait for it, Stiles slid the two fingers into him. When he finally got them in all the way to the base, Scott moaning and pushing back against him, he hooked his fingers inside of him and started to pump, slow at first, but gaining speed each time.

Derek, clearly feeling neglected, let out a pitiful whimper.

“Shh. You think I forgot about you?” Stiles undid his own zipper and belt buckle with his free hand, letting his dick spring free, before he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the cleft of Derek’s ass. “How could I possibly forget about you?”

He put his freed hand to the side of Derek’s ass, enough to push him apart just slightly, before he leaned forward the rest of the way, and let his tongue curve up into him. He fucked into his heat with his mouth, listening to the way that he moaned and bucked back towards him, before he pulled back, licking around his hole, teasing him, flicking against his sensitive bundle of nerves. He switched between the two, teasing and fucking in tandem, while his fingers continued to pump into Scott.

At some point, with his own dick hard and aching between his thighs, Stiles pulled back. But only long enough to switch positions. Two fingers slid into Derek, curling inside, while he bent forward to let his mouth land on Scott’s stretched, waiting hole. He ate him out wholeheartedly, growling into his skin, using tongue and lips and even teeth to fuck him with.

They both moaned and whimpered for him, crying out when he hit the spot just right, bucking up, pushing back, needy and desperate- exactly the way that he liked them.

It was too much. It all got to be to much. Stiles pulled back and wrapped a hand around his own cock. With two firm strokes, he came, covering both of their backs with his release, moaning out their names as he did.

He knew that they came within seconds of him, crying out and then slumping forward, spent and hazy. He joined them, a pile of limbs on the floor, sticky and hot, and spent.

Scott wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist and pressed a kiss to his neck. “Was that enough of a thank you?” He asked, voice raspy, a grin on his mouth. Derek nosed into the other side of his neck, quiet, but still a solid, warm presence at his side.

“More than enough.”

They were more than enough.


	4. drive my body into his like a crash test car

**part iv: isaac and peter**

Isaac doesn’t understand the relationship that he has with Peter.

Then, maybe he doesn’t want to. Maybe that’s part of the appeal. The mystery and confusion of it all. The _goodbadhotcoldpleasurepainexcitementfear_ of it all. The way that Isaac’s heart races whenever Peter slides his claws down his skin, never certain if he’s going to dig in and rip him to shreds. The way he ghosts his fangs over his throat, over his chest, down lower and lower, Isaac’s animal senses all the while telling him that here is where death lies.

But to lie with death, to see its face and know that it controls you, even as it makes you come, over and over and over again. Well, that’s something that not most people have a shot at.

So, yeah. Isaac doesn’t understand his relationship with Peter. But he doesn’t plan on asking, either.

He raps his fingers twice against the cold steel door of Peter’s condo, pausing to check the time on his phone when there’s no answer. Isaac waits five minutes, knocks four more times, and just when he’s about to turn around and head home- all jonesed up with no one to get him off- the door slides open with a creak.

Still, Peter being the one for theatrics that he is, he isn’t actually standing at the door when Isaac turns around. There’s no sign of him at all, actually, but again, that’s mostly to be expected.

He steps his way into the apartment, and shrugs his jacket off, hanging it up on hook, then kicks off his shoes next to the door, and by the time he leaves the entryway, he’s stripped down to nothing but skin and bone. (Clothes are frowned upon in Peter’s home. Unless they’re shipped in from European designers and being used to make Isaac feel like a dumpster diver in his own clothes, which would be _fashionable_ anywhere else.)

In the bedroom, there’s still no sign of Peter. Just the canopy bed, black on black, heavy curtains falling to both sides. Isaac’s cock- already hard from the phone call half an hour before, where Peter had demanded his presence- jumps at the mere sight of the thing. The dark, heavy knowledge of what they’ve done in this bed, time and time again.

He shivers and slides forward, on his stomach, head resting on the pillows.

Dramatics aside, Peter does want to fuck him. And he’ll appear on his own time. Isaac knows to wait until then. Not to touch himself, not to call out Peter’s name, not to wander anywhere but the bedroom.

So, he waits. Trails his fingers against the soft silk of the bed sheets, closes his eyes, hums slightly.

He doesn't have to wait long.

The familiar press against his back, sinewy muscle and warm skin, makes him smile, slightly, though he presses his mouth into the bed to hide it. He doesn’t speak, just lets himself enjoy the feel of Peter’s warm chest, the curve of his hips, the way that his body manages to line up just right against him. It almost makes his toes curl.

“I have a gift for you.” Peter purrs the word against his ear, and Isaac’s spine tightens. “Do you want it?”

“Yes.” His voice is breathless, his whole body already geared up and ready. He’s not entirely sure he’s being honest about wanting the gift. Peter’s presents have a way of either being incredibly good, or incredibly bad.

But he knows well enough now that denying him will result in something far worse than whatever gift Peter might have had in store.

Something soft presses at the small of Isaac’s back, some sort of unfamiliar fabric. It ghosts up his spine, towards his shoulders, and when it wraps around his neck, he swallows hard.

But it isn’t wrapped too hard, not yet, at least. Peter’s mouth is ghosting over his neck when he asks, “Do you like it?”

And Isaac doesn’t need to look to know that his answer is a choked out, “Yes,” his hips already grinding down towards the bed, trying to rub out his too hard cock. Peter knows how to amp him up, how to drive him mad, without even trying. It’s infuriating. Isaac’s going to burn in him, and he knows it. They both know it.

But the fabric- a scarf, Isaac thinks- slides away from his neck, trails over his arm to tug around one wrist. Peter grips his hips- too hard, Isaac whines like a kicked animal, but doesn’t dare to pull away- and rolls him over onto his back.

Looking into his face when they do this is like a religious experience. Like looking into the face of a god- not a benevolent god, a vicious god. A god intent on ripping to shreds every nonbeliever, a god filled so deep to the bone with wickedness that it makes the Earth hurt.

Isaac loves to hurt for Peter.

And Peter is smiling now, a crooked kind of grin, as he takes the scarf and twists Isaac’s hands above his head, knotting them together with the gentle fabric. It isn’t so tight that Isaac couldn’t break free if he wanted to- no scarf could truly hold a werewolf captive- but he doesn’t want to.

“You’re such a good boy, you know that?”

He shudders and nods, throws his head back and whines again, his hips grinding up towards Peter’s pelvis. He can feel him more firmly now, pressed chest to chest the way that they are. Peter’s hard, hard and hot, pressed tight against Isaac’s thigh, and he wants _more_ of him. He wants all of him that the older man can give, he wants to be filled to the point that everything about him, his hopes and fears, his memories, his _soul_ has to make way for Peter.

“I got you something else, too.”

Peter reaches to the side of the bed and grabs for something that Isaac can’t see. More soft fabric slides against his ribcage, another scarf. He opens his mouth to ask why, why the scarves, but Peter silences him with his teeth, biting into his lips and tongue, kissing and claiming all at once.

Isaac just cries into it and rolls his hips up.

The scarf glides up his shoulder, teases at the side of his face, and then the world goes black. When Peter ties the scarf and takes away his vision, Isaac really _does_ cry, pinpricks of moisture at the corners of his eyes. It’s too much. He’s going to come without even being touched.

“Easy now, pet. Not yet. Not just yet.”

There’s a familiar sound of something being uncapped, and Isaac squirms in anticipation. He hisses when two fingers, slick and wet, slide against his entrance, slide into him and make him feel full. Peter rocks his fingers forward just a little, before he stills, and breathes out a command.

“Fuck yourself on my hand.”

And Isaac doesn’t need to be told twice. He whines, his breath hitching in his chest when he does, his body rocking down on the familiar digits. He needs to grab for something, but his hands are bound, needs to look into Peter’s face and see approval, but his sight is gone, and he’s left with nothing but the feeling of those two fingers.

It makes his cock _leak_ precome on his stomach, leak so hard he doesn’t need sight to know that he’s a mess already, and he hasn’t even come.

“Enough.”

The fingers are gone too quickly, and Isaac is left feeling hollow.

He’s left feeling barren. And he wonders if this is punishment from a god displeased, leaving the world barren and empty.

But as fast as the punishment was delivered so is the reward. The head of Peter’s cock is thicker than his two fingers, and when he pushed it into Isaac, he screams, and throws his head back so far it makes his throat ache.

Peter fucks him like it’s a competition. Like he’s trying to fuck out every thought of every other lover that Isaac has ever had. He fucks into him like they’re burning, like the world is coming to an end, like this is the very last thing that either of them will ever do.

It’s in moments like these, body full, every sense heightened, that Isaac knows Peter loves him.

It doesn’t take long for him to come crashing against that ledge, his bones tightening inside of him, every nerve ending searing. Isaac comes hard, screams his voice hoarse, doesn’t stop fucking his hips down against Peter’s cock the entire time.

Peter follows soon after, growling and biting down into Isaac’s shoulder when he does.

He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t remove the scarves from his wrists. He does kiss him again, less teeth than the first time, more tongue, laving into his mouth and trailing the fingers on one hand through the come on Isaac’s stomach.

Isaac doesn’t understand his relationship with Peter. But he doesn’t need to. He falls asleep, still bound, in Peter’s arms. And when they wake the next morning, they fuck again. And they’ll keep doing this, with no end in sight. That’s all Isaac needs to understand.


End file.
